


Roped In

by Holde_Maid



Series: Highlander50_-_Methos [14]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Community: highlander50, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2007-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra and the Horsemen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roped In

**Author's Note:**

> Claim: Methos (whom I do NOT own, alas.)  
> Prompt: Follow.  
> Rating/Warnings: PG-13 - Beware of Horsemen  
> Word count: 1117 words  
> Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor any part of the Highlander universes are mine. Also, no harm intended and no profit made. Not even trying to. :-)  
> Author's Note: Thanks to jinxed_wood for the prompt, to ceruleancat and sparklebutch for support and esp. the latter for great help with the plot! :-)  
> Prompt Table: http://holde-maid.livejournal.com/11492.html#cutid2

Cassandra sat in the tent, quiet but not calm. Her initial terror had settled somewhat.  
  
Not that she didn't still tremble with fear and hatred whenever Methos entered her line of sight, but she knew by now that hers was not the worst fate suffered here. At least Methos only killed her when she didn’t do his bidding. He might hit her out of the blue, but his moods had limits, and he showed appreciation of demure obedience.  
  
The true all-pervading terror did not come from him. It ... it lived in the encampment like a ghost. It lay in the fact that you were never free, not for a single breath you drew. You were always watched, and always caught when you fled. Eyes followed you everywhere.  
  
There were Silas’ eyes: dangerously benevolent and attentive. He liked watching the slaves do their work. He had never touched her, except the one time he had caught her trying to get on a horse. He had killed her, and she had found herself back at Methos’ feet when she had revived. Since then, his eyes were a little less benevolent, and a little more attentive.  
  
Then Caspian’s eyes. She had always known his eyes followed her when she went to the river to wash clothes or get water. He filled her with horror and disgust, but forewarned was forearmed. She did not give him cause to touch her, and she kept at a distance from him as much as she could. He was the reason why she stayed inside Methos’ tent whenever her duties permitted it.  
  
Finally, Kronos’ eyes. Kronos was like a snake. It was hard to predict what he would do next. Sometimes he sounded quite friendly, but within an instant his mood could change so he might feel like raping or killing. Dozens had fallen victim to his whims even in what little time she had spent with the Horsemen.  
  
Kronos’ eyes followed everyone. Caspian, with fascination. Silas, with pride. Methos, with... She wondered, sometimes. Lust? Jealousy? Mistrust? His smiles were harder to read when he was watching Methos. She wondered what his features betrayed when he was watching herself.  
  


= + = = = + + + = = = + =

  
  
A few days later, Cassandra reflected that her posture had changed. There was less pride in it, and her head was bowed almost all the time. That did not prevent her from watching the men, though, nor yet from sensing the looks they gave her. If anything, she now felt them all the more.  
  
Kronos was observing her constantly, at least since her last attempt at escape. He had also looked on, with great satisfaction, when Methos had killed her for that attempt. Kronos probably hoped to see such punishment again. His gaze had rested on Methos, who had taken his time, giving Cassandra ample opportunity to take note of her surroundings. Horrified, Cassandra had watched Kronos. Kronos had watched Methos, lust and pride warring for dominance on his face. Methos, in turn, had kept his eyes on Cassandra and the knife he had driven into her as slowly as possible.  
  
And since then, Kronos’ gaze followed Cassandra everywhere. She even thought she could feel his eyes on her when she was serving Methos in his tent. Even the mere thought chilled her to the bone.  
  


= + = = = + + + = = = + =

  
  
As they moved northward, the plains grew grassier, the days cooler. Naturally, one turned to one another for warmth at night, if one could. Especially when one was wearing little beyond a torn bit of cloth like most of the slaves. Cassandra could only turn to Methos, albeit with apprehension, and he was not always very forthcoming.  
  
Sometimes he relaxed and relished her ministrations. Then she had occasion to view his body in detail and wondered what it would be like to touch it without fear. The hard muscles, the tall sinewy frame and angular face held a lure of their own. Would she have wanted to do what now she was doing because it was expected of her? Pleasing Methos was a necessity. He might decide any time not to bring her back to life when he killed her.  
  
It was strange, actually, that he liked her enough to bring her back time and again. Perhaps he had been taming her for practise, but he had chosen to tame her, and no other. There were moments, even, when he caressed her gently, as if he had forgotten who he was. As if Cassandra might, too, forget it for a little while. If only she could have accepted this silent offer.  
  


= + = = = + + + = = = + =

  
  
Cassandra kept close to Methos, now that they were in more and more unfriendly territory. Following his horse, she took note of the wary looks he gave the slopes and woods around them. He worried. Kronos, by contrast, was as happy as she had ever seen him. He smelled battle. Caspian and Silas, in unusually strong agreement, were bored. Fighting would be a fine diversion to them, but today they did not lust for it like Kronos.  
  
Fear in her heart, Cassandra kept even closer to Methos’ horse, and promptly bumped into his heel. He gave her a sharp rap on the head, and sent her to join the other slaves.  
  
More than a dozen slaves, men and women, and a few children followed the Horsemen, but few of them had to carry heavy loads. Mostly the slaves only needed to make sure nothing fell off the carts that carried the tents and riches of the Horsemen. Almost everything should be transported this way, Methos had advised, because it made them fast as tigers, if need be. So whenever another cart or horse was needed, Kronos and his brothers raided a village that owned such luxuries. The remainder of their possessions was packed onto spare camels and a few shoulders, usually for punishment.  
Cassandra saw them trudging along and thought that perhaps they were luckier than she. They did not constantly live in one of the tents of their lords. But then, they got even fewer chances of escape than she did.  
  
Her eyes wandered over her shoulder and to the two camels tied to the last cart. Could they be a way to escape?  
  
Then she looked further behind them. The territory was unknown to her, and the nights were very cold. Those who lived here would kill her. If they didn’t, the cold would. In Methos’ tent at least she did not freeze to death.  
  
Her eyes wandered back to the camels. She was like them. Methos had got her on a rope. She did not belong, she was merely one of his belongings. There was no other choice: where he led, she had to follow. 


End file.
